


We Bury Our Dead

by infernalandmortal



Series: Memori Drabbles [6]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Family Issues, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Death, callous mentions of death, dealing with said family issues, idk i just needed to give Murphy closure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 09:32:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11181972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infernalandmortal/pseuds/infernalandmortal
Summary: On Earth, there were burial grounds. In space, the airlock was the only cemetery they knew. Emori insists they say goodbye anyway.





	We Bury Our Dead

**Author's Note:**

> This fic includes some callous mentions of death (courtesy of Murphy) so if that grinds your gears, turn back now.
> 
> Basically, I just wanted to give Murphy some closure. Naturally, Emori helps with that.

_The Ring, Day 2_

They had spent the past day mourning the dead.

After the initial relief of surviving a near-death flight into space had worn off, the sadness set in, pressing down on all of them. It was a quiet thing, calm and nearly deadly, and it permeated every hallway, every small space. Bellamy wore it well, as did Raven and Echo, and Harper tried to emulate a good soldier but it was hard for her. It was hard for all of them.

"I miss Clarke," Emori says to Murphy as they walk the halls together, fingers entwined tightly as if they would be torn apart by the steel walls and machine hum. Last night was full of nightmares, of the memory of her strangled gasps against his ear, of her fading pulse and closing eyes. "Do you think she survived?"

 _I hope so_. "She's probably ash by now." _Or maybe the nightblood worked._ No. He couldn't go there. Hope was a sure killer, better than a knife. "Some cremation."

Emori frowns at his callousness and at the unfamiliar word. "Cremation?"

"In the old world, people burned their dead and kept the ashes."

Emori wrinkles her nose. "We buried our dead. Having graves to return to...it helped some of the others."

"We did too," he answers, thinking of the small gravestones outside the dropship. "When we came to the ground, anyway." He remembers Jaha kneeling there crying for his son and his stomach twists like a knife. The halls of the Ring echo with his father's voice. He shakes his head to chase it away. He knows where they are. He knows where they're walking and he hates it but he's going to show Emori the rawest, ugliest piece of him and he knows from experience that she will fold it into her chest and never let go.

They pass the airlock in which his father died. Its glass is pristine, glimmering in the lights and oh how Murphy wants to throw his fist through it just to see it crack. Beyond the chamber, the universe stretched out as infinite as Murphy's hatred of the Ring. "They went through here."

Emori separates her fingers from his and places a light hand on the glass, her pickpocket's fingers barely leaving a mark. "How...?"

"They were sucked out into space." He shoves his hands in his pockets. "They died instantly."

"With nothing to mourn them," she murmurs. Sadness is etched on her face - he sees her reflection in the glass - and he wonders whose graves she returned to. He wonders if she will feel their absence when they return to the ground and there's nothing left to remember anyone by.

"Everything was repurposed," he said. "No one could keep anything to themselves after they died."

She steps back. Her fingers trip over his, find the seams between them, settle there. "Sad," she murmurs.

He presses on and on and on until they reach the apartment door, dented from a fistfight when he was ten. "Home sweet home," he says bitterly, shoving it open, hearing it clang against the wall.

"This was your home?" Emori is incredulous, slow with surprise and curiosity. The lights inside are flickering and dim but they still work. She walks around the small space, her boots dispersing the dust on the floor.

"Yep." Murphy can't keep the bitterness from his voice any longer. "Sucks, doesn't it?"

She touches the mattress that was his parents', the empty bookshelf above his old bed. Her breath comes in stutters. "Where are they?"

"Gone." Murphy stands in the center of the room, near where the dining table used to be. "Mom died here. In a pool of her own vomit." He points his thumb out the door. "Dad died in that airlock. They sent Mom's body out there too."

"At least they're together," Emori murmurs. Something presses on her shoulders then; Murphy can see them rounding, caving in bit by bit. He's warring against a thousand painful memories simply by standing in the living room but he has time to beat this, time to turn this into his past because the woman before him with her clever eyes and beautiful voice is both his present and every future he could ever hope to have.

"Did you say goodbye?" She asks. Murphy shakes his head.

She sighs. "That's another thing graves are good for." She turns almost abruptly and heads for the door.

"Leaving so soon?"

She turns and extends her hand. "Come on." Her eyes are dark. They're widow's eyes. They're mourner's eyes. "Let's go say goodbye."

* * *

They stand in the airlock, the doors behind them wide open, the release remote solidly in Emori's bad hand to prevent any malfunctions. Space is so close to them here and Murphy can almost see why Raven finds her solace in this view.

Emori clears her throat. "I'm pretending I'm at a grave right now," she says to no one in particular. Her voice is soft, almost reverent. "My name is Emori. I don't have a second name like you do. I'm in love with your son so I wanted to introduce myself."

 _She's talking to my parents,_ he realizes with a jolt as tears threaten to snatch his breath.

"He's a good man, you know." Her voice is conversational but it's trembling in time with her chin. He sees a tear roll down her cheek. "Your deaths hurt him. One of your deaths was noble, which maybe made it easier for you, but it still hurt him. He had to become something harsh and hard and terrible to survive. But he did survive. And now I want to teach him how to love being alive."

She sniffs. He squeezes her hand. "I'm not the one who should kneel at your graves. I didn't know you. I shouldn't mourn you. But I know your son. I love your son. And if the dead can watch us, then you probably want me to take care of him. And I will." She laughs. "I'm trying, at least. He doesn't make it easy sometimes. But," a grin, bright and blinding, spreads over her lips, "he makes me so happy. And he's so warm and safe and soft. You didn't finish raising him but you had a good start. Thank you for the gift."

She curls in on herself for a fraction of a moment. He wraps his arms around her and presses a kiss to her temple. "Thank you," he murmurs, tears in his eyes.

"Your turn," is all she says.

Murphy clears his throat. "I'm sorry, Mom," he starts because that's the only open wound he could never sew up. "I couldn't have stopped you. I see that now. But I'm sorry for hating you for what you did. I'm sorry I got sick. I'm sorry I took Dad away from you."

He sneaks a glance at Emori. Her chin is lifted to look at him, her chest against his side. "And Dad." He sighs. "I saw how you treated Mom. How much you loved her, you know? How you always provided for her. How you told her you loved her every day. How you made her happy. And I told myself, when I was little, that I would be just like you for the girl I loved." He looks down at Emori, meeting her eyes, teary like his own. "I don't know if I'm doing it right but I'm trying. I know... I know you'd be proud of me just for trying. You always were."

He tries to say more but words fail him. He doesn't feel as though he found closure but there's something else in his chest that wasn't there before. It feels like a relief, but not quite forgiveness. He can't offer them forgiveness yet, but he figures the words ringing in the glass room are a good start.

He hides his face in Emori's shoulder and lets his tears soak her shirt. She holds him, runs her hand over his back and through his hair, murmuring comforts in his ear. Beneath them, the earth spins on. Behind them, an entire life awaits.

 

 


End file.
